Inevitable
by BeyondTheHorizonIsHope
Summary: Some people were born to walk the wrong path. That was why all roads led Grace Riley back to Charming.


Hi there! This is a plot bunny that has seriously been bothering me for ages. I've always wanted to write it, but could never get a beginning that felt good enough, so I came up with a flashforward prologue that I tend to go for these days.

I don't know if I'll stick with this, the prologue that is. I'd just really like to know what everyone thinks of it, the character, the directions it's going, etc. I'm trying for something different. Obviously this is just a sample. Any feedback would be fantastic!

This is Season 1, after the club breaks Cherry out of prison.

* * *

**Prologue**

When Grace opened the door to Agent Stahl's smug face, her first instinct was to slam it shut and go back to bed. It was the first time in months that she had the chance to sleep in (alcohol induced blackouts until late in the afternoon not included), so, of course, ATF had to come pay a visit…at seven thirty in the morning.

If everyone got out of this in one piece, it would be a miracle.

Grace leaned against the door frame, running a hand through her blonde hair. "Was wondering when you'd get around to me."

Stahl smiled, managing to look even more smug and punchable. She was flanked by one of her generic, nameless minions and a large manila folder. It wasn't hard to guess at the contents.

"Gotta save the best for last."

"Course you do," Grace replied with the most ungraceful of yawns. She grabbed a set of keys from the kitchen counter behind her and walked outside. "Step into my office."

The apartment was located above her family-owned bar and was only accessible via the set of outside stairs that they now stood on. She led the two agents back down, ignoring the snores and obvious scent of weed drifting from her uncle's open window. Fortunately, it was the only thing he had been smoking lately. At least he had a card for that.

Still, Grace assumed Stahl would bring that up at one point or another, question the legality or implicate her in something. Anything to get under her skin; anything for leverage. She had come to know plenty of people like that in the Military Police. They were scumbags, every one.

She fumbled with the keys to the front door of the bar, watching as Stahl took in the building, looking equally interested and bored.

"One has to wonder," she said suddenly. "What's it like being named after a bar?"

Grace snorted, glancing up at the sign, the old wood carved with the words 'Saving Grace.'

"Like having a constant reminder that your parents were alcoholics." She kicked the door open and gestured inside. "Federal agents first."

"Oh?" Stahl feigned surprise as she approached. "I heard you didn't come with manners."

"Try not to get used to that." Grace put her hand out as the other agent stepped forward. "Junior stays outside."

Stahl considered it for a moment before nodding to her minion. The agent walked back to their government issued car, parked dangerously close to the Harley in the lot. Grace watched him get in, making certain he did nothing to the bike, before slamming the door shut.

Even with the excessive amount of lights installed in Saving Grace, the floor to ceiling mahogany still left the building with a very sleepy atmosphere. Grace fought off another yawn as she leaned against the bar, resting her good foot on one of the stools. She grabbed a pack of cigarettes and matches from under the counter, lighting up as Stahl examined the area to her little heart's content. With a satisfied nod, the agent sat down at the booth across from Grace, the folder landing with a loud 'thud' on the table beside her.

"You know, smoking in a public place is a violation of California law."

Grace took a long drag, exhaling the smoke just over Stahl's head. "Good thing we're closed then."

Stahl grinned. It was the kind of expression that called her a 'smartass' when words weren't exactly appropriate. She'd been on the receiving end of several dozen of those throughout her life. For some people, that was the only time they smiled at her. It was something she could accept.

And just like that, the smile was gone, like the subject had changed in Stahl's head.

"I gotta say, I'm impressed with how you're handling this, Miss Riley." She grabbed the folder, sifting through the contents, the words and photos just out of Grace's line of sight. "Most of your acquaintances are less than willing to cooperate."

"Guess that explains the jail population."

Stahl shrugged. "All a part of the job. Just because I'm a federal agent, doesn't mean I can't crack down on small town crime."

"ATF's ganging up on doping sluts. God help the porn business." Grace took another drag and tapped the ashes into the bar sink. "Look, I've been on the other side of the interrogation table. I know how this works. Lack of cooperation is an obvious sign of guilt in some shape or form. Now, seeing as how I know nothing about anything you're after, why would I want to throw all that suspicion my way? It's just a waste of everyone's time."

"Oh, I highly doubt you're an innocent in all of this," Stahl countered, picking through more papers. She pulled out a few and set them aside. Grace had to wonder what kind of leverage she was packing in there. "Couldn't help but notice you've got a visitor. That Harley belongs to the Scot, doesn't it?"

Grace thought back to the other body occupying her bed.

Chibs had come in late, saying nothing as he casually crawled under her covers like he belonged there. He wrapped his arms around her midsection and proceeded to sleep with his face buried in the base of her neck. There was alcohol on his breath, along with the smell of sweat and pussy. It was something she had grown used to at this point.

What was strange was the fact he was there at all. If he was ever in her bed, it meant that they had either been bored or horny, usually a combination of the two. They never just slept. But she did not bother questioning it, not at four in the morning. It was something to be saved for later.

Not that she told Stahl any of this.

A simple 'yep' was her only answer.

"And what was he up to last night?"

His cut and shirt were lying in her tub, both covered with a decent amount of blood. If she had to venture a guess, it was a fistfight, with a _slight_ advantage to the Son.

_I hope he doesn't expect me to clean those._

Grace tossed the remainder of her cigarette in the sink, watching the embers slowly die. "He did a few things, like cooking, the dishes…mostly me though."

Stahl stood, looking more smug than annoyed. She grabbed the set aside papers, tossing them casually on the counter next to Grace. They were various images of different nights, all of her building, all of her and Chibs meeting, his bike parked all night, him leaving in the morning. It left a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, and a small chill crawled up her spine, a realization that privacy had never really been staple in her life.

"Seeing as how you dress like you actually give a damn, not to mention family history, I'd say you aren't crow eater material."

"Not his old lady either, if that's what you're insinuating."

"No, of course not. I think we both know you have certain…commitment issues."

Stahl paused, gauging her reaction. Grace remained stoic as she examined the pictures in more detail, trying to get a good idea of their camera set up, not that they would stay there anymore. She could feel her blood starting to boil, though, and her leg was beginning to bounce at a fast beat.

Maybe getting rid of that cigarette was a bad idea.

"Despite that, I think you mean something to our Mister Telford. He's comfortable around you. No doubt you put his mind at ease. Men like that are quick to talk. I'm sure there are plenty of dirty little secrets in that brain of yours."

Comfortable. That was the word that had been on the tip of her tongue since Chibs came back. They had always been casual, uncommitted, but now things had grown…comfortable. He stuck around longer and they spoke more, less small talk, more personal, enough to put them both away for a long time if a judge saw fit.

Stahl had hit the proverbial nail on the head, and that bothered her. No, it pissed her off. It was exactly what she wanted too. If Grace was in her position, knowing what she knew, she would toy with her emotions. Anger made her play into anyone's hands.

Grace shrugged, leaning away from the photos. "He told me once that they'll overcharge anyone who rides one of those crotch rockets."

There was that grin again.

"You have your father's humor."

For a moment, all she saw was red. Grace wasn't sure what she did in that small amount of time, but it must have been obvious, because Stahl's face became practically gleeful.

"Touchy subject, I take it?" she asked with a flip of her hair. Walking back over to the booth, Stahl began to flip through her folder again. "You know, I can't help but wonder at you. Father carted away to prison when you were eleven, given an extended sentence and denied parole for murdering another inmate on the Club's call."

"Allegedly."

Her voice didn't hold the cocky conviction it used to. It was quieter and echoed the anger boiling inside. She hated defending the bastard, and Stahl knew it. She had Grace on the run, and was gaining fast.

"Allegedly," Stahl repeated with a smirk. "Your mother ended her life about two years later. Your sister tried to take you in, but it was obvious you'd had enough of Charming. I'm sure you ran away far more times than the records indicate."

She'd actually run away before her father had been arrested, not that it would have gotten on record. She had been ten at the time and made it a whole six blocks before her mother picked her up. Most of her ventures ended that way, with a car ride and a disapproving look. Usually, she called Chief, then Deputy, Unser though. He at least tried to understand her position, but he always gave her this pitiful look, like someone seeing a stray at the pound that they were incapable of taking in.

The last time she'd 'illegally' run away was when she was sixteen. It had been the longest stretch on her own, a whole two weeks on her father's Harley, with nothing on her mind except the open road. She never would have returned if it hadn't been for the truck that ran her off the road outside Baton Rouge. It resulted in a three week coma and an obvious white scar on her right temple.

That one was probably in the file.

"And when you finally graduated, you split, joined the Army, and weren't seen for the next 12 years. Bit like Tara Knowles when you come to think about it. Just as confusing too." Stahl paused, walking her way again. "I guess I just can't wrap my head around why you would stay in a place that clearly causes you so much pain, especially now that your sister is gone."

Grace grasped the bar with white knuckles. It was all she could do to keep from punching the mouth off her face.

"I heard they still haven't caught the man who did it. I'm sorry about that."

In the back of her mind, a gunshot echoed.

Her eyes narrowed. "Stow the bullshit sympathy. You're not fooling anyone."

"Neither are you, sweetheart." Stahl closed the gap between them, standing only a few inches from her face. This was where she would try to break her, and Grace had a sinking feeling that she was going to get close. "You and I both know your sister's death was related to the Club. So what was she doing for them, hmm? Storing their guns? Arranging meets? With Charming PD on the pay roll, it wouldn't be hard to accomplish. And I'm sure she would do anything for the Sons, what with one of them being her baby daddy and all."

Grace wasn't sure how much longer she could hold onto the bar.

"You leave them out of this. This is between you and me. My niece has nothing to do with it and my sister was innocent."

Stahl snorted. "Even if she was, she's still dead. Doesn't change a thing. You know what I think? I think if it had been _anyone _else involved in her murder, you would go through hell and high water to bring them to justice. And yet, here we are. Her killers are running free with you adamantly defending them. All your life has been one bad break after another, all because of the Sons of Anarchy. Tell me, Grace, what do you owe them?"

And there it was: the question Grace had no answer to.

She had asked herself that same one on many occasions, coming up with excuses but never answers. The Sons had always been that all-powerful entity in her life, something she could never do anything about. That was why she always ran.

The long silence must have raised an alarm for Stahl. She knew her prey was weak. When she spoke again, her voice was calm, almost soothing and full of unspoken promises.

"I can lock them all away, Grace. Give you justice for your sister. And then you can live the life you've always wanted, free from their influence. All I need is a statement."

A few simple words and everything was hers. It felt too good to be true. She knew it was.

And then it all fell back into place.

"You need to leave now."

That was apparently not what Stahl expected. "Excuse me?"

Grace narrowed her eyes, standing to full height. Her confidence was coming back, her anger reined in. "I said, leave."

Stahl stood her ground. "You might want to reconsider that. I don't make this offer often."

"When you're desperate enough, you will." Grace stepped closer, daring. "And I've got the feeling you're about to be very desperate."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

They were silent for a few moments. Stahl then backed off and gathered her things, clearly realizing a lost cause, while Grace lit up another cigarette, desperate herself to get the last of her nerves under control.

She followed the agent to the door, wanting to make certain she was good and gone before she did anything else.

"You're doing it for him, aren't you?" Stahl asked, turning back one last time. Grace didn't bother responding. "It's kind of cute, in a twisted way, the two broken soldiers on opposite ends of the law. Bit of a Romeo and Juliet complex, don't you think?"

At the word 'broken,' Stahl had kicked lightly at her left leg. Grace did not feel the impact, only the vibration that made its way up the prosthetic.

"Wonder how your husband is taking it," Stahl finished.

At that, Grace smiled, that same smug grin Stahl had been wearing the whole time. There was no hiding the surprise and suspicion on the agent's face this time.

"Considering he's been face down in that-" Grace's eyes flickered to Stahl's pants. "-I'd say not very well."

Nothing was quite as satisfying as watching all the composure slip from her face. She could have sworn her eye even started twitching.

Then she finally got to slam the door in her face.

* * *

A few minutes after the car had left their lot, Grace made her way back to the apartment. She crawled into her bed, which was still very much occupied by the Scottish Son. He groaned slightly as the mattress lowered under her weight, but otherwise did nothing.

She shuffled closer, lying flush against him. Her arm snaked around his side until his hand grabbed hers, holding it close to his chest. He was still wearing his rings.

For a while, she simply stared at his back, looking the tattooed reaper dead in the eyes. She had so many questions, so many doubts. She hated feeling this vulnerable.

"Chibs?"

"Aye." His voice sounded half asleep.

"Would you kill for me?"

His body jolted slightly as he woke up more. Chibs turned over slightly, his bleary eyes meeting hers. "Wha…why on earth are you askin' tha?"

"Just answer the question."

He blinked and then sighed. "Aye, I would."

It was the answer she had been expecting.

It was not the answer she wanted.

* * *

I know, it's pretty random. LOTS of information. Obviously, all this will be addressed later. I just really want people to get a feel for it and, again, know what you think. Thanks!

(P.S. Sorry I'm not the best at description, dialogue is CLEARLY where my head is at most the time.)


End file.
